


Flight to Hollin

by teachair (halavana1)



Series: Gold for a Ring [3]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-04
Updated: 2013-12-04
Packaged: 2018-01-03 11:21:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1069872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halavana1/pseuds/teachair
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Morfindel's wife speeds to discover the cause of her sudden misgivings about her husband's welfare.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flight to Hollin

Scurrying here and there on a bright morning not long after the third bell from sunrise, Lurisa and her maidens prepared for a double homecoming. Morfindel and Thistledown would be returning soon; she could feel it. Joyfully routine preparations sprucing up their private chambers, checking on the stores of their favorite foods, and plenty of ent draught for their private moments once the first welcome ran its course kept her busy for days. So silly to take such pains for so routine a thing as this, but Lurisa delighted in seeing her husband again after an absence. Many married elves cooled to each other as time passed. Her own parents ceased to live together once their children grew to maturity, becoming estranged so that Celerin moved to Nargothrond with Galadriel when Thaliontaur officially recognized Lachnir as his grandson. Lurisa’s mother never forgave her for wedding a “cursed Fëanorean.” Though the flame of her parents love flickered and died, her love for Morfindel remained ever constant, as did his for her. She likened it to a well tended forge, neither consuming itself, nor abating.  
This was Thistledown’s first long excursion with her father, brother and nephew and word soon reached Lurisa what a smashing success she was with the inhabitants of Ost-in-Edhel. Even Galadriel displayed open fondness for her. At first Thistledown wondered if Lurisa would object, but she assured her daughter that what tension there may be between the two ladies need not carry over to the next generation and secretly thanked Galadriel for her kindness to a child of the house of Fëanor. They remained in Eregion three years and in their absence Lurisa occupied her time tracking the mortal descendants of their daughter Earlina and Numenorean son-in-law Ciryafin. Mortal genealogies required so much more attention than did those of the elves, for their generations lasted such a brief time. Earlina and her sister Hithwing had long since departed over sea. Though Hithwing expressed her intention to return, Lurisa doubted that she would. Time passes in Valinor differently then it does in mortal lands. Six hundred years is not even five yen as the elves reckoned time, but among mortals already thirty generations had passed.   
Morfindel frequently asked Lurisa to accompany him to Eregion, but she usually declined, though she was loath to refuse him. Actually, she did not refuse. Always he gave her the choice and increasingly she chose to remain at home, and he understood. When he returned, he brought with him new tales of ostentatious behavior and some new rule of decorum, drawing gales of laughter from their Laiquendi followers.   
Noldor were too proud, thought Lurisa. Even Celebrimbor, who dwelt with them many years before Morfindel took him to see Khazad-dûm and introduced him to the dwarves there, changed toward them. Though still fond of them, he called them Noldorin woodelves, saying “You are too much in the flesh,” before Thistledown was born. “Having children at your age is unseemly. You could be great among all elves, yet now you are masters only among Woodelves. You’re strength has diminished from bearing so many children.” After so many years living among Laiquendi, what did he expect from them? The Mirdain took on too many airs, which was why Lurisa avoided Ost-in-Edhel now. She remembered the day they laid the foundation of the smithy, the first building to be constructed. Elves and dwarves celebrated together, feasting and giving speeches drawing laughter from all quarters. Now the speeches were so somber and serious and important sounding, all about creating a land where elves and dwarves could live together in peace and prosperity where no enemy could assail them for an entire age of the world. Fine. Let them gather their riches and build their towers. She preferred her mountain in the foot of Ered Luin with its forests and meadows and also dwarves, mortals and Luindar, or Blue-elves, as she liked to call her people.  
In the early days of Ost-in-Edhel, Celebrimbor worked side by side with his laborers, hands and feet in the dust, building, overseeing, celebrating. Now he was too important, high and lofty for such things. Once Morfindel, in jest, toasted him as High King of the Dispossessed. Now he no longer dared, for fear of offending his cousin. While Morfindel revelled in a freedom he never knew as a child, Celebrimbor set his sights on lordship and power. He was still affectionate, of course, but so aloof and the friends he chose troubled Lurisa; this Annatar, who came out of nowhere, especially. Normally, Galadriel disliking someone tended to grant that person benefit of the doubt from Lurisa, but for that one, the two ladies who were so often at odds, agreed fully. Morfindel spoke of all they learned from him and her attitude troubled him, but he did not discount it. Once in private she asked him not to speak of Annatar to her, and he complied reluctantly, from then on asking permission before launching into their latest endeavor. His consideration touched her and she never refused, and he always mentioned Annatar briefly by name, if at all.  
Perusing her wardrobe for the perfect “welcome home” gown, suitable for a husband and a daughter, Lurisa concentrated on Morfindel’s heartbeat, regular and steady as always. She remembered what a nuisance their combined heartbeats were at first, and how tiresome to feel both at the same time. What ever possessed her to speak that enchantment which joined their hearts, making them ever aware of each other, she no longer remembered, but now she knew not how she might manage not knowing that Morfindel was alive and well. No matter how far he roamed, always their connection kept them close though they be too distant to speak mind to mind. She was about to select a deep green floor length dress when suddenly she froze under such a growing sense of dread that caused her to gasp for breath. Gnawing fear creeping through her for a cause she knew not. Shock and surprise sent her reeling and she cried out, screaming so uncontrollably that her maidens instantly ceased their singing and jesting and rushed to her aid. Clutching at her chest the way a mortal woman might when suffering a heart attack and staring past them as if they were creatures of air and not flesh, she stumbled about, nearly fainting.  
“What ails you, my lady?” cried Springlily, taking Lurisa by the hand and attempting to comfort her but Lurisa shook her off and gazed around as if seeking a dreaded enemy, ever keeping her back to a wall or other solid surface.  
“Something is wrong!” she breathed. “Something terrible is befalling my lord, oh my poor beloved Morfindel! What is it!?” She breathed deeply, calming herself, and him as well she hoped. But the horrible sensation only intensified. “I must go to him,” she gasped and ran to the place where the horses grazed, her maidens following swiftly behind. “Who will bear me to the aid of my lord?!” she called. “We must make haste to Ost-in-Edhel!”  
A lovely gray mare trotted in Lurisa’s direction but was blocked by a great red horse. Lurisa was surprised to see him come forward for he usually ignored her, being accustomed to Morfindel and suffering hardly any other rider. He laid his ears back, nuzzled the mare away gently and stood between her and Lurisa.  
“You are fleet of foot, but this journey would break you, my darling,” said Lurisa to the mare, who tossed her head and ambled back to the herd. To the horse she said, “Will you tolerate a light saddle? I am unaccustomed to riding without one.”  
The great horse tossed his head and snorted once, then proceeded to the stable where all tack was kept. Lurisa ran ahead and made ready her saddle as soon as the horse drew near. She was about to mount when she heard the voices of her twin sons calling. No doubt Springlily had summoned them, she thought.  
“Mother!”  
“Mother! Wait!”  
“We can’t let you...”  
“...ride off without knowing more...”  
“...about what may have happened!”  
She turned to them and said “I dare not delay, for yet this fear grows. I must discover the cause.”  
“At least wait until...”  
“No!! I shall not wait even another hour!” she cried and bidding the horse to follow, she raced to her chambers where she changed into an outfit more suitable for riding and grabbed a large bladder of ent draught, slung the cord of the bladder over her head and under an arm, not knowing if it would be of any use or even wanted. Ignoring the protests of her sons and handmaidens, she sprang onto the saddle, calling to the horse, “Fly, Caramir! I am but a passenger! Slack not your pace for me! To the aid of our lord!!”  
The red horse tossed his mane and dug in his toes. In three great leaps he surged forward, picking up speed until Dor Luin vanished in the distance behind them. Still she heard the calls of her children, but heeded them not. They could not even guess what she knew of Morfindel’s great distress and growing despair.  
“Ai, Eru! Iluvatar! Keep my beloved safe!” she whispered as the landscape blurred past. Something must have happened for Morfindel’s fear abruptly ceased, but only temporarily. Quickly it returned, but in a different form. This was like that of a warrior who knows the battle is lost, but pushes himself to the limit, using his last strength to warn his fellows that they must make a stand. Suddenly she felt his heart beat become muffled, as though through armor.   
Caramir prepared to leap a narrow stream and Lurisa raised up in the stirrups, leaning forward, then back, then upright again. She concentrated on riding so as not to hinder Caramir as he galloped, shifting her weight from one side to the other when he turned slightly. From Dor Luin to Ost-in-Edhel was more than three hundred miles and though Caramir could run swiftly and tirelessly for hours and hours, he would need rest and grazing time. Already the first night’s grazing pasture lay behind them, making their journey so far more than 20 miles. A leisurly pace stretched the road over about ten days, but Lurisa had no intention of taking that long, and obviously neither did Caramir. After only three hours, they passed the second night’s pasture. She figured the distance in her mind, trying to distract herself from Morfindel’s fear. A little over one hundred miles to Sarn Ford. South from there down the North Road to Tharbad crossing of the Gwathlo, another hundred and fifty miles. Through winding paths skirting the Nin-in-Eilph to the last ford, then a straight race to the western gate of the city of elves made the remaining hundred miles. Three hundred fifty miles. She might cut short perhaps fifty, but such roads were treacherous for a lone woman of any race, no matter how swift or powerful the horse.  
Presently they came to the river Baranduin perhaps forty miles down stream from Sarn Ford. Clearly Caramir’s idea was to take a straighter path. When he bore Morfindel, this was the way they came. The great horse slowed his pace and stepped into the current, swimming to the other side with powerful strokes of his legs, moving slightly upstream. Lurisa kept her head above the water and grasped the saddle with one hand and the container of ent draught with the other until he found the far bank and rose from the water.  
“You have sped two day’s journey in a matter of hours,” she said to the horse. “There is good grazing here.”  
The horse shook himself and set to grazing, walking eastward as he did so. Though he must eat, still he kept his mind upon the journey rather than wandering about as feeding horses usually do. Lurisa would have dismounted but Caramir pinned his ears back and snorted, refusing to halt.  
“Very well,” she sighed. “Oft times I wonder who is the master, Morfindel or you.”  
If Caramir had an answer, he kept it to himself, continuing his ambling grazing to the east, flicking his ears this way and that. Suddenly, as they approached the road to Tharbad, he focused his attention on a clump of bushes to the right and shied left. Lurisa straightened her right leg to keep from being thrown and also looked to the right just as a group of five young men from Tharbad stepped out.   
“What’s this?” said one.   
“It’s a she-elf,” said another. Approaching Lurisa and Caramir, he said, “Tell me, my lady, what would you be doing out on your own at this time of day?”  
“My husband is in distress and I go to his aid,” she replied, in a low, cold voice. “What would you be doing out at this time of day when most men of Tharbad are at supper with their families?”  
“How do you know we are of Tharbad?” asked yet another.  
“I’ve been told that if you catch an elf, she has to grant you a wish,” said the first.  
Caramir stood square and arched his neck, waiting with one ear cocked toward Lurisa, the other moving back and forth between the two speakers as they talked. The elf lady sat still as a statue as the men approached. “What wish would you like?” she asked. The horse tensed at a signal from Lurisa’s heel and moved his hindquarters sideways, shifting his front feet so that the speakers were directly in front of him.  
“You’re horse has lost his bridle,” said a fourth.  
“He never needs one,” replied Lurisa, watching as the five men drew nearer.   
“Maybe I’ll wish for your horse,” said the first.  
“He is not mine to give.”  
At this the men approached to the point Lurisa had set as her limit and using her feet and free hand on Caramir’s mane she guided the horse into a spin. The horse lashed out with his hooves, barely missing the men as they dodged and withdrew.   
“His aim’s not very good,” said the fifth, who up until now had said nothing.  
“That was a warning. He intended not to mark you,” said Lurisa, then commanded “Let us pass! Or he will lose patience with you.”  
Two men lunged forward. At the same moment Caramir reared, struck out and caught both of them square in the face with his front hooves, knocking them cold. Then he turned on the others, who quickly scattered. With a nudge of her heel, Lurisa turned him again toward Tharbad and with a snort and a crowhop, Caramir again raced eastward. They skirted Tharbad, crossing the ford near midnight and began wending their way along the paths near the marshes of Nin-in-Eilph as dawn approached. By mid-morning they reached the last ford that crossed the River Glanduin. On the other side Caramir grazed on the good grass and satisfied his hunger, then broke into a swift gallop, not pausing again until they reached the western gate of the elf city. Heads turned in surprise as Caramir bore her under the great stone arch just as the bells chimed mid-day. He carried her right to the gate of their house not far from the smithy.   
The servant inside the gate was playing a sad tune upon his lyre, but stopped in surprise as she stepped into the courtyard. Quickly he put away his instrument. “My lady! Galador has just departed with tidings not three hours ago! We expected you not for several days...”   
Silently, Lurisa dismounted, unsaddled the horse and bade him rest. The doorward took the saddle and placed it on a stand just inside, following Lurisa as she ran up the stairs to Morfindel’s chamber where they found him huddled against a wall, a defiant, hostile glare aimed out the open door of their balconey, as if daring a vile intruder to pass through it. He reminded her of a pair of wolves she once saw, when first they began to dwell with the elves of Taur-im-Duinath. Though Morfindel tried to disuade them, the woodelves persued them many days, but the creatures would not leave the woods. When the woodelves eventually killed them, they discovered the wolves were only protecting their cubs. The Noldor, recognizing that neither parents nor offspring were evil, adopted them and their line was preserved in the hounds of Dor Luin. But the fate of those two wolves made Morfindel’s resemblance to them all the more poignant to Lurisa.   
He turned exhausted eyes to her and gasped. She went to him and took his face in her hands, gazing into his eyes, seeking his mind, but unable to reach him. The intensity of his concentration brought beads of sweat to his brow, but it was as if a wall between them blocked even the slightest word. At last she heard his voice, faintly but with supreme effort, as if screaming from the bottom of a deep pit.  
“You... were... right!” he cried before collapsing in her arms.  
“I was right?” she asked him, caressing his face. “I was right about what, my love?”  
But he could not answer for weeping. Lurisa held him tight and sang softly a song of Valinor that he always sang to her when she felt distressed. Lachnir, Ormal and Thistledown stepped inside the room, surprise on their tired faces, the doorward speaking quickly and softly to Thistledown, asking for instructions.  
“Mother!” exclaimed Lachnir. “What are you doing here so soon? Father was injured just yesterday. How...”  
Lurisa motioned for them to be silent and leave. Reluctantly they obeyed. She again bent her mind on Morfindel, but could not find him and even this close his heart beat was muffled.   
“Can you hear me?” she asked.  
His arms tightened around her and he sighed and nodded.  
“Who did this to you?”   
Morfindel mouthed the beginning of a word, but gagged and choked, tearing the bandage from his throat, gasping for breath. Lurisa pulled him to her again and kissed his forehead. “You can hear me. For now that is enough. Fear not, my love. I will find a way to reach you. Do not give up hope.”


End file.
